


No Colors Anymore

by adjovi



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 20:56:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17515760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjovi/pseuds/adjovi
Summary: A little slice of life fic featuring Eliot and Teddy (mostly). A mosiac fic (kind of).





	No Colors Anymore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohmarqueliot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmarqueliot/gifts).



Eliot sat cross-legged on the bank of the river, fingers winding the daisy stem around the buds, careful not to pull too hard. He watched Teddy wriggling around, jumping and leaping, reminding him of Quentin’s stupid _Cirque du soleil_ niffin trap dance. (red) Teddy's crown of daisies had slipped sideways on his head, almost with fashionable intention as he bent to pick more flowers. Eliot was glad, not for the first time, that even though they were stuck in Fillory without any modern conveniences, at least they weren’t in rural fucking _Indiana_ with 24-hour Walmarts and drive-through liquor stores.

A memory surfaced, unbidden _redredred_ of when he was 9-years-old, playing Little League. He had been banished to far left field, and that patch of grass had seen no action all day. So, it seemed perfectly reasonable that Eliot could pick the violets to bring to neighbor girl, Gloria Rose, who would press them into her book. A fly-ball must have come his way, but he hadn’t noticed, so focused on the flowers. But, Owen Wilcox had apparently made a spectacular catch, ending the inning, so Eliot didn’t feel too bad. Until he cleared the batting cage and his dad grabbed him by the ear (Red) and pulled him back behind the bleachers. He whispered urgently and deliberate. Eliot knew by the way that some of the moms and dads and siblings had turned to look, twisting over their shoulders, that they could hear every word. “Get your head in the game, you little faggot.” His dad’s breath smelled of cigarettes and stale whiskey. _RedredRed_ “You trying to embarrass me, picking flowers? You know what they say about you, queerboy?” Eliot crushed the flowers in his hand, dropping them to the ground.

He pulled too hard on the last stem, breaking it. He sighed, drawing in a slow, steady breath. ( _red_ ) Teddy loped over, holding his shirtfront up, cradling more flowers. “You gonna make one for daddy?”

“Yep.” Eliot finished his own crown, slipping the last stem around. He handed it to Teddy. “Here. King me.” He ducked down his head, fingers already beginning to form the next ring.

Teddy stepped up, giggling. “I make you king.” He placed the crown on top of Eliot’s head. At least in Fillory, no one would judge him and his son for their flower crowns.

The boy flopped down beside him dramatically, then his eyes went solemn. “Is daddy going to be ok?”

It had been a scary three days. Quentin’s cough had developed into something approaching a death rattle _RedRed_ and even though he insisted he was ok, neither of had gotten decent sleep in days. The apothecary had come yesterday, bringing the root which finally broke his fever, and the grey-brown tincture that Eliot was sure had some kind of opium in it, given the way Quentin’s eyes shone, but had stopped his cough. He had convinced Eliot sleep to outside, the weather was warm, and one of them needed to be awake to keep a decent eye on Teddy. He was ten, a rambunctious, curious ten, and Eliot had reluctantly agreed. This morning, Quentin had looked a little better, but his cheeks were still flush with fever. (Red) He had managed a little soup before Eliot had taken Teddy on a trip into the village to re-up their supplies. He reached over, straightening Teddy’s crown. “Yeah. Daddy’s gonna be ok.”

Teddy visibly relaxed, and Eliot marveled at the power his words held. Speaking of--“Tell me a story.” Teddy turned onto his back, placing a daisy against his mouth, blowing at the petals.

Eliot quickly flipped through his fairy tale memories, and this was definitely more in Quentin’s wheelhouse. Sleeping Beauty. Snow White. Rapunzel? All had heteronormative, misogynistic storylines, (said the Quentin in his head), the damsel saved by some dude who just happened to have the right blood in his veins. Like that made him special. Eliot definitely knew _that_ was a fucking lie. (red)

Finishing Quentin’s crown, he stood, holding his hand down to Teddy. The boy basically climbed his leg to standing. “Ok, so there was this lion. Do you know what a lion is?” Teddy shook his head. “Like a giant cat, like as big as me. Bigger!” Teddy rolled his eyes, skeptical. “He was the king of his whole land.” Dropping Teddy’s hand, he hoisted him up by the armpits, Simba-style. “He had a son. And he said to him: all the that light touches is yours.” He swept one arm open wide. Of course, they were in the forest, so the sun only dappled in spots through the trees, but close enough. He lifted Teddy higher, settling him on his shoulders. He needed to be careful, he was so tall. Some of the branches were extraordinarily low, and Teddy could crack his skull. _redredredred_ He got to the part where Pumba and Timon came into the story, singing a little bit of _Hakuna Matata_ to a delighted Teddy. They had reached the outskirts of the village.

Teddy squirmed eagerly, trying to get down, and Eliot knelt down to let him. Teddy took off shrieking, making a beeline to the Apothecary shop, knowing the candy he would get there. “Hey. Speedy Gonzalez.” Eliot grabbed the back of his collar with a long arm. “We need to go a couple of other places first.”

He led them to Mr. Habersham’s, _Handlebar_ , his brain supplied. Had to be careful, or one day he would slip. _redred_ The stern man with the walrus mustache who looked a whole lot like Wilfred Brimley and his dia-beetus just happened to make the closest thing to actual earth whiskey, and Eliot planned on making Quentin a proper hot toddy. At least honey and lemons were exactly the same. Turned out, all plants needed bees. They visited the butcher, getting more bones for broth, and the little general store where he found a book someone had written on Questing Beasts. They had gotten the Great Cock all wrong—he looked more like a velociraptor than a majestic bird. But, huh. There actually was a dromedary called “Cameltoes”. He should never question Quentin’s nerdy knowledge of all things Fillory. Quentin would love the book, and hopefully it would cheer him up after spending so many days indoors.

At last they headed to the Apothecary. Teddy banged right through the door. “Milla!” She turned to greet them with a smile. She really was beautiful, all long black hair and honeyed dark skin. Eliot was pretty sure she was sweet on Quentin. “How’s the patient?” She directed this at Eliot.

“Getting better. Just wanted to get some more fever root. And, that cough tincture.” She nodded at him, winking at Teddy before pulling out a large piece of rock candy, holding it out to the boy. Eliot laughed. “You basically just gave him rocket fuel.” At her confused look, he backpedaled. “That sugar is going to hit his system, and he’s gonna crash. Hard. I bet I’ll be carrying him half the way home.”

She grinned at him. “Big, strong man like you? Can’t imagine that will be a problem.” She tilted her head in such a way that Eliot thought that maybe? (red) They may have to revisit this when Quentin was feeling better.

He wasn’t wrong about the sugar. Teddy went bounding up the path, practically vibrating into another universe. Then, a little over halfway home, he started dragging his feet, whining. “How much longer, papa?”

Eliot swung Teddy around to a piggyback, his long steps lulling Teddy to sleep before even five minutes had passed. His shoulders and lower back were on fire by the time their small cabin came into view. He gently settled the sleepy boy onto the ground before opening the door. “We need to be quiet, in case daddy’s sleeping.”

He gently opened the door, and Quentin shifted on the bed.

“There’s my guys.” His voice was rough, like sandpaper scraped with glass. _Red_ His color was better though, and he sat up fully in the bed.

“Papa!” Teddy reached an eager hand back. “Daddy’s crown.” Teddy scrambled right over to the bed, sleepiness forgotten, climbing up right into Quentin’s lap. “Daddy. I make you king.”

Quentin tilted his head down. “For me?” He reached up, carefully straightening his crown. “Thank you.” He looked up at Eliot, smiling warmly. “We three kings.”

Eliot was happy to see Quentin eat a whole bowl of soup. Soon as they finished eating, Teddy was half-asleep at the kitchen table, and Eliot put the boy down. Teddy insisted on keeping the crown, which would be a wilted mess in the morning. But he had long ago discovered to pick his battles.

Quentin was on his second hot toddy, and maybe Eliot had been a little heavy-handed with the toddy part, because Quentin was definitely drunk. He was crooning loudly to Eliot. _Cheer up Sleepy Jean, Oh what can it mean, to a--_.

“Shhhhh” Eliot was laughing. Quentin’s voice was truly, wonderfully, awful. “You don’t want to wake the baby.”

Quentin over-exaggerated a shhhh, one finger over his lips. “In case you haven’t noticed, El, he’s not exactly a baby anymore.” _redRed_ He giggled again, then began singing dramatically half-loudly. _Daydream believer, and a homecoming Queeeeeen_.

“Come’re.” He grabbed Quentin around the waist, turning him around to fit perfectly into his big spoon. Quentin laughed a little which caused a coughing fit. _RED_ But his breathing soon smoothed out into a soft snore, a small wheeze of congestion on the end. Eliot pulled his hot body close, trying to focus on Quentin’s breathing. If he could just focus _RED_ on his breath, in and out. And not. If he could just hold on to this moment, this perfect little day. _REDREDRED_ His very favorite, most precious thing, tucked in close, breathing in and out. In and out. Over the _REDRED_ _screams_ and _No_ and _PLEASE_. And. Just beyond, if Eliot could just _hold on_ over the—

**RED**

If Eliot could. Just focus. On the in and out. Just hang on to this perfect, singular memory. Spooling it out, one golden detail at a time. Of this perfectly _ordinary_ day. Of his greatest treasures, of his whole heart. If he could just. Maybe. If he could. Then, maybe. Blessedly. Maybe. He could just. _Sleep_.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this little story took hold of my brain. ohmarqueliot had been saying how much she loved the dynamic between Eliot and Teddy, and I so wanted to explore that. This wanted to be strictly a fluff piece, but, my inner angst monster kept picking at the scab. Title taken from lyrics from "Paint It Black".
> 
> Hope you enjoy--comments and kudos are most appreciated.


End file.
